Page 24 of The Magpie Lord
“What the—”
“Me, that’s just me. Sorry. I need to see.”
“What’s that on my hand?”
Day’s thumb slid over the dead white patch on his knuckles. “It’s an abreaction. You’ve heard of people’s hair turning white when they see a ghost? Like that. It shouldn’t be permanent if I can deal with it now. Otherwise it’ll just be a white patch. Nothing to worry about.” His thumb moved back and forth, gentle but firm, prickling champagne bubbles on Crane’s skin.
There was silence for a few moments. Finally Crane forced out, “That thing. Was that Hector? His—his spirit? His soul?”
“I’m not a theologian.” Day’s hand was folded around Crane’s as his thumb slid over the skin, fingertips tingling against Crane’s palm. “And this isn’t my field. But...it reacted to you, it reacted to your reaction, it was astonishingly physical and close to audible... I think it’s not Hector exactly, but it’s what’s left of Hector. Or what Hector is now.”
“Marvellous,” Crane muttered. “And it’s not gone for good?”
“Not yet. I might need help to get rid of it permanently.” Day hesitated. “Were you frightened of him, as a child?”
“Terrified. I used to spend half my time in the attic, hiding from him. One holiday he found me and broke my leg in a door so I couldn’t run away. It took him three tries. When I heard he was dead, we got drunk for a week.”
Day’s thumb had stilled, his grip tightening on Crane’s hand. “I will make it go away,” he said softly. “I’ll get rid of it for you. I promise.” His thumb resumed its circling movements, slower and a little firmer, warm and close and caressing. “You know,” he added, “there are a number of recommended methods of dealing with ghosts—salt and iron, harmonic resonance, some people swear by exorcism, and not just priests—but that’s the first time I’ve seen anyone try a left hook.”
“Now you say that,” Crane said, “it strikes me that it was a very stupid act.”
“It was brave.” Day sounded serious. “A bit stupid. But mostly brave.”
The shaman knelt before him in the moonlight, painfully close. At some point, Crane wasn’t sure when, he’d moved so that his arms were now resting on Crane’s thighs, warm and heavy. His hair glimmered dark copper in the cold light, and his caressing thumb was sending spangles of sensation up towards Crane’s elbow.
Crane looked down at him. As if he’d felt the gaze, Day looked up, mouth slightly open, and his wide eyes met Crane’s for a long breathless moment.
Crane reached out with his free hand and brushed his thumb slowly over Day’s lips. He pushed them gently apart, and felt them move with the pressure, opening, accepting the touch, breath fast against Crane’s hand. Crane’s need was suddenly, violently urgent after the night’s terror, and Stephen Day was kneeling before him, lips inviting, pupils dilated, a gift to be unwrapped. He pushed his thumb further into the warm mouth and felt a flicker of tongue against his skin, a tentative taste.
“Stephen,” said Crane softly, trying out the name.
Stephen tilted his head back a little. “I...I don’t...”
“Oh, you do.” Crane stroked his fingers possessively over the small chin. “You really do. Lovely boy.”
“I’m twenty-eight,” Stephen said weakly, and Crane smiled, knowing that was surrender.
His hand closed on Stephen’s jaw, pulling him closer. “Come here. Unless you want to stay on your knees, of course,” he added, with a twitch of a brow, and something in the other man’s eyes went suddenly dark.
“Listen to me,” Stephen said. “I have been clearing the abreaction for the last few minutes. This has been dull and uneventful, and you’re keen to go in and do something more interesting than talk to me. I’m very boring and drab and unattractive, after all, and you’d be much happier talking to Mr. Merrick. You want to forget about me and go in, so you’re quite glad to hear that the abreaction has cleared.”
“Has it?” said Crane. “Oh, good. Can we go in?”
“Of course.” Stephen leaned backwards, shifting his bony elbows off Crane’s legs. The moonlight greyed his rather dull, mud-coloured eyes and nondescript features. He looked drawn and tense, almost distressed. Crane didn’t know why.
Crane rose and held out a hand. After a second Stephen took it, and Crane heaved him to his feet.
“Ow.”
“Did Hector—it—hurt you?” Crane asked.
“No. No, my knees are just a bit stiff. No damage done. Well, I caught my jacket on those roses.”
“Merrick is very good at rescuing clothes.” They fell into step back through the moon-shadowed grounds to Piper. “He kept me respectable for years. What happens next?”
“I’ll walk back the Judas jack tomorrow. See if I can find out where it was made and who did it. Prevent them doing anything else. And then I’ll find out what provoked the haunting and make it go away.”
“Where to?” Crane asked. “Hector, I mean. Where would he go?”
